


When Magnolias Bloom

by cilceon



Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [10]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon
Summary: Magnolia let out an airy laugh from her makeshift stage, a response to White Chapple or another patron, she didn’t know. As Deacon continued with his tale, she listed to what Mag’s was saying. “If I could melt into this bar I'd be the vibe. Move around as easily as the smoke. I'd soak in the laughter and the smiles, dance upon each octave in microscopic shoes.” The singer sighed, Glory refilled her glass, “But meanwhile, back in reality – instead of my imaginary world, I'm life-size. So… instead, I'll step into the shaded room that opens my eyes all the wider – see the muted colors of the bottles. The glitter than finds every spark of light. As the night goes on, I'll be more comfortable in this crowd, intoxicated by spirits and the moments all the same.”(The HQ gang goes for drinks, dancing & a tender moment ensue)
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout), Glory/High Rise (Fallout)
Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992751
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	When Magnolias Bloom

_"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news._

_They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up._

_And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly -_

_that still hurts when the weather gets cold,_

_but you learn to dance with the limp."_  
\- Anne Lamott -

Like normal, there wasn't much happening in the catacombs of the Old North Church. Wanderer was leaning back in the couch that Tinker Tom had somehow managed to convince Smiley to drag down to his nook of a makeshift workshop – from what was probably a pastor’s office upstairs. The fraying fabric scratched the base of her neck as she rested her head against it.

Tom had been on a tangent for roughly fifteen minutes now, she was tuning him in and out as he went on as she took a deep breath. Rich with mildew, dust, and most prominently – cigarette smoke. Once more she shifted her attention from the man next to her to the rest of the catacombs.

The constant whispering of the crypt’s draft, the beeping of the code coming through the radio, the clacking of a pencil, the occasional paper flip. All fell into a soft rhythm behind Toms voice. Now and again she could hear the foundation of the church settling.

Morse was the only agent _really_ working right now. She was absentmindedly twirling a pencil in and out of her cropped hair while deciphering an incoming message. Desdemona and Carrington were playing a game of makeshift chess, as they discussed upcoming runs and went through safehouses in hushed murmurs she couldn’t make out over Tom.

Even through all their bickering, there were times like this where they got along. They didn’t hate each other, no. But their different views and morals always took the high ground over their friendship.

“So that’s what I’m sayin’ man, that’s what _I’m sayin’_!” Tom waved his arms in the air from his seat, whacking her shoulder as he often did. “So, if it was so good – as you proclaim, why isn’t there any bottles anywhere?”

She stared at him for a moment. Wanderer wasn’t quite sure when he had shifted to an interrogation. It must’ve been when she was trying to listen to Dez’s voice. “Cause strawberry was only out for Valentine’s Day when I was around sixteen, Tinker. It was a limited time thing to boost nuka-cola sales dur–”

“Woah woah woah. Hold up, hold up. Who’s Day?” He was squinting at her now, his arms folded over his overalls in speculation.

She closed her eye before explaining, “It was a holiday like Halloween, but it was about showing people you loved them. You gave people chocolates or flowers or stuffed animals.” It was always a gamble when she mentioned something pre-war to someone who wasn’t a ghoul.

She either got a crazy look or was asked to explain what she said several times. A dangerous thing with Tinker Tom, who often asked for the latter which then left the two of them falling down a rabbit hole – sometimes for hours, much to the chagrin of the other residents of the catacombs. The rest of their ragtag family didn’t seem to mind right now, though.

Wanderer felt bad for riling Tom up like this, but it was so easy to do – often entertaining. If she was being honest with herself, it was nice to have someone who was so energetic about the past. Granted Tom was like this about a lot of topics that weren’t pre-war as well.

Deacon was like that too, though not to Tom’s extent. He limited himself to no more than three questions at any given time. Tom, on the other hand…

“Okay so, you got some dead thing…stuffed it, then gave it to people?”

“What– no! Like a teddy bear Tom!” If anyone in HQ was asleep in their general area, the sharp rise in her voice would’ve woken them immediately, she recoiled into herself upon that realization.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to come up with his defence when Glory stepped in

Wanderer didn’t realize she was back yet. “Okay Tom, times up.” She clapped her hand on his shoulder with a loud smack, as she leaned over the back of the couch between them. “I’m snagging Wanderer.”

“You are?” The two of them said in tandem.

Wanderer realized that this was the first time she had ever seen Glory in something other than her armored coat as she rounded the couch.

Her jeans were the same, but now she had a loose-fitting button up on with the sleeves rolled. Of course, Gory had to have strong arms to lift her gun, but – the woman could probably crack a melon with those biceps with little resistance. She made another mental note not to ever piss her off.

Glory extended her hand to her. “Yep. We’re going drinking.”

“We are?” Wanderer repeated, watching Tom sink into the couch as if that could hide him from the offer being extended.

Glory took her hand and yanked her up with ease then cocked a smile his way before turning her attention to Wanderer. “I owe you some drinks for helping out the synths with Randolph.”

She slung her arm over Wanderer’s shoulder and walked them towards their lockers, giving her no option to protest.

Carrington spared the pair a glance as they went behind him, snapping his eyes back to the board in front of him when Desdemona let out a snarky “Checkmate.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Glory gave her a light shove as they crossed the threshold to the small room. PAM looked to be in her sleep mode, or was ignoring the two, Wanderer couldn’t tell.

“Is Dez okay with this?” She did want to have a night where she wasn’t worried about being shot but wasn’t sure an angry Desdemona would be worth it in all honesty.

She nodded against her. “Mhm, I got an all clear. She knows we can handle ourselves out there.” With another shove she continued, “Now go put on something nice. Really dazzle me.” Glory wiggled her fingers, sitting on the bench behind them then leaning down to retie one of her boots.

Wanderer opened her locker and stared at the neatly folded contents. She had a few changes of clothes for different undercover ops Deacon and her would go on or if it started raining on the way back to base – but nothing really _dazzling_.

“I don’t have anything super fancy Glor- oh wait.” She held up a laundered pale blue dress for the other woman to see.

There were no blood stains or holes in it, Wanderer noted as she aired it out with a shake of her wrist. A ping of sadness waved though her. The cotton material had a softness she had almost forgotten could exist; she was worried she’d ruin it with her touch.

“Cute. Not my style but very – you. What about shoes?”

“I mean I have a pair of heels from that one job in the Upper Stands, but how far are we going?” Wanderer hesitated, “If we get into trouble and I’m in these? I’m likely to break something and you’ll have to carry me back here.”

“Goodneighbor.” Glory waved her hand dismissively, “Wear the shoes, Wands. The way there should be nice and clear by the time we head out.”

She began taking her shirt off to change, turning towards Glory as she did so “Why would it be clear?”

“We’re not going to be drinking alone.” Glory’s eyes shot to her stomach; a look Wanderer hadn’t seen plastered to her face. “Did someone try to gut you?”

“Huh?” She tossed her jeans into her locker, looking herself over for some injury.

“That.” Glory pointed to the crescent line between her hipbones.

She looked at her, confused a moment before understanding washed over her. She set a had over the scar with a soft smile. “It’s from Shaun.”

Glory’s eyes didn’t leave the mark. “A baby did that?”

Her smile grew as she started to pull the dress over herself. “I never really thought about it, but I guess C-sections are super common where there isn’t a doctor. There was some complications when I went into labor so we decided to cut him out.” That wasn’t the most elegant way to put it, but it was all she could think of in the moment.

“I thought Dez was joking when she told me about that kinda thing.” The words were said more to herself than to Wanderer. She decided not to press as to why Desdemona was talking to Glory about cesarean sections, it wasn’t really her business. Though the curiosity didn’t fully leave as she finished getting changed.

The walk there went without incident, aside from Carrington’s remark about how an outing such as the one they were committed to was dangerous to the integrity of The Railroad – or something like that. Wanderer didn’t trip over a single pothole or giant crack. In the process of watching her feet, she did notice one of her shoe buckles was lose and would probably need constant fixing throughout the night.

The two women were almost to the main gate of the settlement when Glory spoke up. “Hey, Wands?” There was a layer of gentleness in her voice that Wanderer wasn’t used to hearing from her.

“What’s up?”

“Last time I took a synth to Amari, she asked about you. Didn’t go into details but she mentioned that you saw some shit you didn’t add to the Kellogg report for Dez.” When Wanderer didn’t respond Glory slowed her steps and continued, “I know you’re a tough son of a bitch, but you okay?”

“Ask me again when I have a drink or four in me.” Wanderer didn’t look from the buildings as she spoke.

“Fair enough.” She changed the topic not so subtly, “Ah, I almost forgot. Deacon’ll lose his shit if we use our names. So tonight, I’m Jenna. Hope you don’t mind but the boys are going to call you Charlie since half the town knows the General of the Minutemen.”

Goodneighbor had a feeling that could only be described as Goodneighbor itself. Especially at night. No one cared who you were if you minded your own business.

It wasn’t until they were fully inside the city that Wanderer felt like the dress might be too much. Quickly, she became fully aware that the hem of the skirt only went a little past her knee and, more importantly, that she hadn’t had this much sink showing in the city of misfits before. “Maybe the dress was overkill.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re beautiful and everyone in this shit hole knows it.” Glory nodded towards Daisey as they continued. Her companion laced her arm into the crook of her own. Glory wasn’t much for affection but keeping her friends safe from prying eyes was a different story.

“Well Charlie,” The ghoul called out after them as she closed shop for the night. “Look at you dressed like you stepped right out of a magazine.”

“Thanks, Daisey, you’re always a sweetheart.” Heat spread over Wanderer’s – Charlie’s cheeks. She was Charlie tonight, getting drinks with her coworkers. _Her friends_. She turned to Glory. “So, who else is gonna be joining us?”

She assumed Deacon would be there, he had been uncharacteristically absent from the church all day, telling her that morning that he ‘had a hot date with an atomic blonde from the Fens’.

She had shaken off the underserved sting of jealousy that his words gave her. He was getting intel from someone in Goodneighbor who may or may not be an attractive blonde woman, that was one hundred percent not her dark-haired self.

They walked through the ally towards the neon glow of The Memory Den. The light slapping her in the face with realization. He was going to the Memory Den to talk with Irma. Charlie’s cheeks heated more, she chalked it up to the chilling night air and not her embarrassment.

Charlie rested her hand on the chipped paint coating the Third Rail’s door and pushed. Rough wooden splinters cut into her palm that hands had not yet worn away and as she brought her hand back from the door, small flecks of long ago dried red paint stuck to her palm. The hinges squealed, in warning or excitement – she couldn't tell. Regardless, their plea was silence by laughter reverberating up the stairs of the subway station turned bar. Conversation swirled through the laughter. The stagnant stench of cigarette smoke interwoven with a metallic taste in the air. It was different then what Desdemona had wrought on HQ; this smell had permeated the walls for much longer.

Glory walked through the entrance as she responded. “I’m hoping for a certain three of our friends.”

“Please let it be Carington, Carington, and Doctor Carington.”

She got a snort of a laugh in response.

“How you doin’ Ham?”

“Never seen you dressed up before, Miss Hale.” _Miss_ … She bit her check to stop herself from correcting the ghoul and something that no longer need to be corrected.

He looked her up and down, deliberately taking his time. “Mayor Hancock would be awfully hurt if he knew it wasn’t for him.” That comment gained a quizzical glance from the woman beside her.

It was Charlie’s turn to laugh. “Oh, he’d live. Come on Jenna, don’t wanna keep our friends waiting.” She looked to Ham before they walked down the stairs lit by candles melted in old tin cans and towards Magnolia’s voice. “Take care Hammy, see you on the way out.”

Halfway down the stairs Glory spoke, her arm still entwined with hers. “Are you and Hancock–”

“Oh god no, John’s just John.”

“John, huh?”

Charlie nudged her playfully and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, you hush. He’s just a friend.”

Now fully inside, she scanned the room for familiar faces – for familiar sunglasses. The bar was packed for a weeknight yet she could clearly see when a hand shot up from a corner table, waving excitedly.

It was Drummer Boy; High Rise was next to him who quickly stood up from his spot upon seeing what got Drummer so thrilled. “Lookin’ good Charlie. You too Jenny.” He took Charlie’s hand and spun her, earning a few glances from other patrons of the bar.

Glory took the seat next to his with a roll of her shoulders. “I always look good. Long time no see, Daniel.” She gestured to Drummer Boy.

Drummer nodded from across the table. “You know me, always busy.” He didn’t have his hat on, and the signature jacket was draped over the chair he was in. At a first glimpse, Charlie wouldn’t have recognized her friend. “How’ve things been at the old homestead?”

Charlie tuned out Glory’s response, scanning the faces of the bar.

“He’s haggling White Chapel of the top shelf stuff.” High Rise explained when he noted her search. He gestured towards the bar where a man in a once patterned button up shirt, sleeves rolled up like Glory’s, was facing away from them, leaning, talking enthusiastically with the Mister Handy. “Though I think he got a little bit sidetracked. Classic Jay.”

“Man’s got the attention span of a bloatfly.” Glory sighed while High Rise slung an arm over her shoulder, the leather of his jacket shining with the dim lights around them. Charlie new that Glory worked with Ticon before moving into HQ, but this was the first time she had seen the two together yet from the way they moved against each other it was like they had never been parted. “Hey Jay!” Glory called out, her voice pushing down all other chatter. “We have things to celebrate! You gonna keep us waiting?” Glory snapped her fingers in quick succession as her question ended.

Deacon didn’t turn his attention from the bartender – with a wave of his hand in their general direction he said, “I’m having a conversation here! Yeesh.”

Glory rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but Drummer beat her to it. “Boo!” He cuffed his hands around his mouth. “We! Want! Drinks!”

High Rise joined in, calling over Glory. “It’s a crime to let these beautiful ladies go unattended!”

Charlie stifled a giggle while Glory shook her head. “I’m sure he’s trying his best guys.” She said just loudly for the table to hear.

Grinning, Drummer’s hands returned to his face, “His best sucks!” His smile was bashful, letting the rest of them know they words weren’t a reflection of his thoughts.

She hadn’t seen him this loud or energetic before. It was out of character for the head of the prized runner and dead drop system. The awareness that these two had already started drinking before the ladies arrived, dawned on her later than it should have. She shouldn’t be surprised. Deacon had mentioned once that he thought Drummer Boy was ‘the lightest of lightweights’ but she had assumed he was well – lying.

The man had a stack of glasses in his hand now as White Chapel handed him a large brown bottle and two nuka-colas that he managed to hold the necks of in the other hand. Deacon gave a nod to the robot and lifted the glasses up in a cheers motion before turning around and walking towards the four of them.

“Would you two quite down. You’re gonna get us kicked outa here.” Despite his chastise, he was smiling. Deacon took the empty seat next to Charlie, setting the contents of his hands on the table with a clank.

“Aw, we aren’t the worst folks in here.” Drummer snagged the stack of glasses, passing them around the table while High Rise opened the bourbon and took a swig before Glory smacked him upside the head and ripped it out of his hand.

Deacon poured cola into the one in front of himself, as this happened Glory sloshed a shot’s worth of the liquor into the other four glasses – with notably more in hers then the rest. “Alright. Let’s keep this short.”

The agents around Charlie began lifting their cups into the air. Deacon gave her a nudge with his elbow as she hesitated.

Way back when, she wasn’t much of a drinker. Another thing that was changing.

Satisfied with the height of their hands, Glory continued. “To our friend, helping our other friends.” The glasses clinked together, emptied and immediately refilled.

Charlie stared into the glass in her hands as Drummer started talking. He was saying something about how much work she had done in the last few months for the Railroad. High Rise chimed in and the two went back and forth for a bit with Glory jumping in now and again. She was only half paying attention.

After a while, High Rise said something that pulled out a chuckle from the man besides her. Deacon was leaning his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his laced fingers. That normal cocky smile pulled at him as he launched into a story.

Charlie nodding in agreement as Deacon asked her to back what he was proclaiming to be true. She focused on the glass that Glory would refill when it dropped below a certain point.

Magnolia let out an airy laugh from her makeshift stage, a response to White Chapple or another patron, she didn’t know. As Deacon continued with his tale, she listed to what Mag’s was saying. “If I could melt into this bar I'd be the vibe. Move around as easily as the smoke. I'd soak in the laughter and the smiles, dance upon each octave in microscopic shoes.” The singer sighed, Glory refilled her glass, “But meanwhile, back in reality – instead of my imaginary world, I'm life-size. So… instead, I'll step into the shaded room that opens my eyes all the wider – see the muted colors of the bottles. The glitter than finds every spark of light. As the night goes on, I'll be more comfortable in this crowd, intoxicated by spirits and the moments all the same.”

Magnolia had a soft rasp to her voice that enraptured Charlie every time she heard the woman speak. And now, with the growing amount of liquor, she didn’t clock how rude it must have been that she practically swivelled around to gawk at the performer as she approached the stage.

“I knew you weren’t listening but do you gotta make it so obvious.” Deacon nudged her again and she let her body rock to the side with the movement.

She looked back toward her friends, the tips of her ears burning. “M’sorry. Just think Mags has a pretty voice is all.”

_Never more in love than when I'm leaving. Never want you more than when you're gone._

Couples around the bar rose to their feet as Magnolia sang, like moths to which she was the flame. Charlie heard High Rise clear his throat and say something to Glory she couldn’t make out but it made her laugh as their chairs scaping across the floor. The pair rose to dance amongst the other patrons.

Drummer let out a small protest of a sigh before speaking to Deacon, “Well go on Dee, go get her closer to Mags.”

_Never miss the wind that keeps me breathing. Till it leaves my lungs gasping for its song._

“Nah, it's okay!” She said just too loudly, shaking her hands in front of herself, “Really, I don’t mind just listening and I’m terrible at dancin’.”

“Scared I’m going to outshine you, huh?” Deacon put a hand over hers, stopping her protest, “Come on, I won't make you look too bad. Promise.” He pulled Charlie to her feet with a light tug. The sudden movement making her head dizzy and he had to catch her so she wouldn’t fall over.

Drummer Boy let out a laugh, pouring himself another drink. “Even drink I think she can drunk more than you, buddy.”

Instead of answering – or correcting his word order, Deacon turned and led her to the crowd of patrons. His hands not leaving her own.

_You warmed the earth inside me with your bare hands._

His thumb ghosted over the back of her palm, callused and rough. Familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

_You took me by the heart and slowed its beat._

“Where ya’ wandering off to in that mind of yours boss?” Free hand resting on the curve of her waist, voice a whisper not to be overheard by the drunks that surrounded them.

Charlie glanced up at him, his glasses mirroring her reflection. A ginger eyebrow just hardly peeking out over the rim. A sliver of the old him, just for her to see. Her fingers brushed over the fabric of his shirt and she set her hand on his shoulder. Strong and safe.

_The dirt within me turned and became money._

You haven't been drinkin’ like the rest of us.” Her grip on Deacon tightened as he spun the two of them gently.

_With your digging and your constant burning heat._

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth; she couldn’t look away from it. He never smiled like that for anybody else, did he?

“Ah, well you see the bar doesn’t have the good stuff on tap and quite honestly I’m too pretty for anything less.”

_You came swiftly as a snowstorm in October. Unexpectedly, you turned me into sleet._

“You don’t want to let your guard down here.” Her volume matched his own, but there was a pout in her tone that the sober version of her would be ashamed of. “We’re ‘spose to be celebrating.”

“Someone has to keep you out of trouble.” Fingers drummed over her hip.

_And if I could, I guess I'd love you ten times over._

“I never get in trouble.” She grumbled and Deacon… laughed. It wasn’t the chuckle he gave the table earlier or the cherry on top of whatever lie he was selling. It was airy and sweet – genuine.

_It's just I'd choose a better time for us to meet._

“Cause I’m always there.” In any other setting he would have said those words after soaking them in sarcasm, but not within their whispers, Magnolia’s voice, and the laughter of the other dancers. Deacon said them like he didn’t want her to hear.

_I never feel more found than when I'm wandering. I never feel more still than when I'm free._

The hand on her hip tightened. Charlie’s on his shoulder did the same. The pair had grown comfortable in moving together in their travels, it was natural for the movements to be mirrored.

_But to hear that quiet voice, I'd give up everything. To follow the soft sighing of the sea._

The liquor in her veins gave her courage to speak out a thought she had been holding in for months now. “You have, haven’t you?” Her eyes darted from glasses lens to lens, searching for an answer she wouldn’t be able to see. “You’ve been watchin’ me since before I even crawled out.”

_You came swiftly as a snowstorm in October_ _. Unexpectedly, you turned me into sleet._

“Mags' does have a good voice, doesn’t she? Nice ‘n smoky.” Deacon glanced around at the bodies surrounding them, at Glory smacking High Rise on the shoulder not so lightly as she had done earlier. Too many people were around them, now wasn’t the place for this conversation. She knew that.

_And if I could, I guess I’d love you ten times over._

Charlie shook her head, trying to sober herself but only caused the room to blur.

“Woah, Woah. Okay, hands around my neck or your sitting back down.” He moved her limbs before she could process what he was saying. “There we go, all nice and sturdy now.” Deacon’s hands were both on her sides, grounding her.

_It’s just I’d choose a better time for us to meet._

“I think I drank too much.” Her voice was back to a pout. Fingers lacing behind Deacon’s neck.

He nodded slowly, “We are celebrating after all.”

“I don’t see why.”

“I know she’s always been dodgy with details,” he gestured towards Glory, “but I'm sure she's mentioned the cause at some point tonight.

Charlie sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I've killed a lot of people. I– I don't think that should be celebrated.”

They moved in a slow lazy circle as Magnolia shifted into a different song, “Ah, I see.” Drummer was up from the table now, dancing with a man she didn't recognise. But there was a smile on his face and he seemed happy with the arrangement. “Do you want to go upstairs get some air?”

“Yeah, yeah I'd like that.”

They move near Glory and High Rise. As they did Deacon slowed, leaning between them and muttering something about Charlie needing a moment.

“I thought Drummer was the lightweight here.” Glory chastised as her partner spun her lazily.

Charlie bowed her head slightly, “We can't all be winners.”

“Don’t go missing for too long you two,” High Rise smiled, “I’ll start to get worried.

Glory laughed at this, “You? Worried? Oh never.”

Deacon lead her to the candle lit stairs leading up to the cold, his hand between her shoulder blades as if she might get lost without contact.

“Leaving so soon Miss Hale?” Ham’s voice gruffed out as they passed, his attention was fully on Charlie, completely ignoring the man next to her.

She smiled at him, noting that in her inebriated state and not knowing the nature of their relationship – Ham was under the assumption that she was being taken advantage of. She put her hand on Deacon’s chest and leaned into him. Though she felt him stiffen, he didn’t pull away. “Just getting some air Hammy, ain't nothing to worry about.”

The ghoul nodded but said nothing more as they walked out into the night.

Deacon rounded a corner and she followed without question. With a smile, she watched the muscles of his shoulders move under his shirt – usually she was the one leading them.

The ally they found themselves in seemed to meet his standards and he stopped walking. Slanting against one wall while she did the same across from him. Old vines killed by frost crawled up brick and the crumbling plaster, enveloping the pair from any passersby.

Before meeting Deacon, Charlie always though the darkness of night ‘pressed in’. It didn't. The darkness kissed up to skin closer than a lover and whispered excitement into ears. The darkness was a best friend. It was funny and glib, flattering and collected. It hid reflections from her companion’s glasses. In the darkness – she could almost forget they were there.

“A lot of people kill people Wands.” He spoke slowly, each word carefully measured.

She shook her head, nearly hitting it against the bricks. “It’s not supposed to be like that.”

“But it is.” Deacon shifted his weight, arms folding over his chest. “Good that you’re torn up about it though.”

“It makes me feel like some kinda monster.” She could feel her cheeks getting hot, suppressed tears finally threatening to fall.

“You? No. You’re more human than most.”

“Sometimes… sometimes I don’t want to be.” She shook her head again, frustrated the words wanted couldn’t be found and sank to the ground of the ally. Dress pooling around her like a wilted flower.

Deacon crouched down after her, his knees popping with the motion. “It’s human to feel the light and the dark. And its human to have a full range of emotions – a full tool kit if you will.” He drew his attention to the buckle of her shoe that had come undone and begin to fix it as he continued. “All those feelings are normal and useful – depending on the situations we find ourselves in. We evolved to have them all, we just have to know when it is right to use them and what to do with anger and grief.” He shifted, so that his legs were crossed under him. “There isn't anything wrong with being human. There's a whole lot that's right about it. We get to choose who we are, to choose to be the angels of our better natures and build our own personhood.”

“Do you actually believe that?” She blinked, signaling a tear to betray her.

He reached up and brushed it away. “I believe it about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this please leave a comment! they're my only motivation to keep writing right now xx  
> I know the ending wasn't the neatest but its been in my drafts since 2016 & after rewriting it last night, I still didn't know how to end it


End file.
